Saccharine
by HopefulAngelofMusic
Summary: At first the romance between Rolfe and Liesl seems innocent, airy, saccharine. But in a world where the Nazis loom over Austria, nothing is ever as perfect as it appears.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own TSOM, or any of its characters or lyrics. If I did I would need a time machine, because I definitely wasn't born before 1965.**

**Any reviews are appreciated, positive or not (as long as criticism is constructive).**

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_"You have now reached infatuation's final destination - the complete and merciless devaluation of self." _- Elizabeth Gilbert

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Liesl slipped out of the side door, making sure her black shoes didn't click too loudly on the marble floor. She'd had enough practice with this. Every time her heart was ticking rapidly with nerves, but she was always careful.

_Today has been such an odd day, _She thought as she peeked behind her shoulder – just to make sure she hadn't been noticed. _An odd day that brought along an odd governess. _Liesl had yet to be fond of a single governess – they were dreadfully stupid, dreadfully old and stern, or dreadfully jumpy and stressed. And the fact that they did everything her father was supposed to do – educate, care for, _love _his own _children _– made her hate them all the more… But this new one, Fraulein Maria, didn't seem to fit any of those boxes. She wasn't familiar, and so Liesl was worried. It might take longer to get rid of this one…

_Think of happy things, Liesl. _She shook her head, brown curls jostling against her shoulders. _You don't want him to see you with a frown on your face, do you?_

The thought of him – him waiting for her patiently by the white gazebo – instantly brought a smile to her face. Her skin seemed to tingle with warmth, and she set off across the lawn.

She reached the clearing in the middle of the grove of trees where the gazebo sat like a delicate ornamental bird. The space was dappled with silver light and shadows and there, behind a tree, she could see Rolfe waiting.

"Rolfe!" His name, strong and somehow boyish at the same time, burst from her lips.

He looked up, his blue eyes shining. The moonlight turned his blond hair and his skin nearly pure white, and he looked godly and radiant and _perfect. _He stepped forward and Liesl ran to him and leaped into his arms. He embraced her back, his hold warm and safe. Liesl grinned and pressed herself into him.

Rolfe pushed her away slightly. "No, Liesl, we mustn't." Though his words were harsh, his voice was soft and half-hearted. Liesl knew he didn't really mean it. She had figured out by now how to tell when he was really and truly serious about something.

"Why not, silly?" she asked, trying to sound as angelic for him as possible.

His already not very stern expression wavered, and he shifted awkwardly. Liesl loved the way he looked when he was shy. She loved how he looked just about any time.

"I don't know," he said. "It's just that – "

"Isn't that why you're here?" She raised an eyebrow, grinning slightly. She could tell he was a bit scared, but then, she was too. "Waiting for me?"

"Yes, of course," Rolfe answered quickly. The tips of his ears turned red with embarrassment. "I missed you, Liesl."

She smiled, not taking her eyes off of his face. Skin pale as cream, sky-blue eyes, wheat-blond hair. He was so handsome sometimes she feared she might burst. "You have?" she asked coyly. "How much?"

He chuckled shyly. "So much, I almost thought of sending you a telegram, just so I could deliver it here."

Liesl's heart fluttered at his words. "What a lovely thought!" she gasped, imagining a neat little telegram, sealed with a blue ribbon and with edelweiss attached. _Dearest Liesl… _"Why don't you?"

"But I'm here!"

She widened her eyes and looked up at his taller form, doing her best to look as pleading as she could. "Please Rolfe. Send me a telegram. I'll start it for you: Dear Liesl."

"Dear Liesl," he repeated. She loved the way her name sounded coming from him, a name that was adored and special. "I'd like to be able to tell you how I feel about you, STOP." He said as he paced, looking nervous. Liesl watched in anticipation.

"Unfortunately, this wire is already too expensive. Sincerely, Rolfe." He finished teasingly.

Liesl felt disappointment prick at her. What if he didn't like _(love)_ her as much as she liked _(loved) _him? But she wasn't about to give up yet. Not in a secluded clearing with a perfect boy, with whom it seemed possible to grab the stars. "Sincerely?" she pouted.

"Cordially," Rolfe's lips twitched in amusement.

"Cordially?" Liesl urged.

"Affectionately," he amended, seemingly too jittery to say what she wanted: love.

Affectionately, however, was good enough for Liesl, and she impulsively hugged him, burying her face in his well-muscled chest. Her chest tightened with fear and excitement as she suddenly felt his warm breath by her ear.

"Will there be any reply?" he whispered, his voice holding a devilish promise.

Flustered, she pulled back and looked into his blue orbs, her head feeling fuzzy. "Dear Rolfe, STOP." She said softly. "Don't stop! Your Liesl."

Looking up at him, she suddenly wished that they could see each other any time they wished. Although there was something terribly poetic and romantic about having to hide, she wanted more. She wanted to lead him around the city and fall in love amongst stone churches and arching fountains, and not give a single thought to what her overbearing father might say.

"I wish we didn't have to wait until someone sends Father a telegram," Liesl sighed. "How do I know when I'll see you again?"

The skin between Rolfe's eyebrows crinkled, the way it always did when he was thinking. "I could come here by mistake. With a telegram for Colonel Schneider! He's here from Berlin – " Suddenly the blood drained from his face and his eyes rounded in fear. "No one's supposed to know he's here!" His voice dropped to a hiss. "Don't tell your father, now."

Normally Liesl wouldn't have worried too much, but his blue eyes were darker now, dark with fear and…something else. "Why not?" she asked, confused and vaguely frightened by the way he was looking at her.

Rolfe swallowed. "Your father's so…Austrian."

She laughed, though there was a hollow ring to it. She knew that patriotism wasn't so rewarded anymore in Austria, but not wanting to talk about such things, she merely said "We're all Austrians!"

"But some people think we ought to be German, and they're very mad at those who don't think so." He replied matter-of-factly. "They're planning to –" Here he stopped, looking troubled. The words hung unfinished and dark in the air, but all he said was "Let's just hope your father doesn't get in trouble."

Liesl felt as if a thread of frost had snaked down her spine. For a while now the Germans had loomed, threatening and maniacal in the distance like a storm. Did Rolfe know something? _Surely he isn't… no, of course not. He carries telegrams for a living, it's reasonable that he should hear of things. It doesn't mean he works with them. _Liesl thought of her father, distant and cold in his fancy suits and trips to the Baroness, and her mouth set in a firm line. No, she wouldn't tell her father, just as Rolfe had asked. Father dear didn't want to hear from her, anyway.

"Don't worry about Father," she replied, bringing another smile to her face. She didn't want such unpleasant things tainting her saccharine world of secrets and moon and Rolfe. "He's a big naval hero. He's even decorated."

"I don't worry about him." He suddenly closed one warm hand over Liesl's. "But I do worry about his daughter."

Every part of her body was humming. _He worries, he cares! _"Me? Why?"

"Well," he fumbled over his words. She could feel the pulse in his wrist beat against her fingertips. "You're so –"

"What?"

He laughed, his face turning pink. "Well, you're such a baby!"

Liesl felt disappointment course through her. A baby, was she? She was sixteen years old, on the threshold between womanhood and childhood! She _knew _she was ready for the real world. _I'll show him. _"I'm sixteen. What's such a baby about that?"

Rolfe smiled tenderly, and Liesl felt herself melt. "You wait, little girl, on an empty stage, for fate to turn the light on. Your life, little girl, is an empty page that men will want to write on." He sang.

"To write on…" she echoed him, still a bit indignant from his "baby" comment. _He may be sort of right. My life hasn't quite begun yet, but that's because I haven't yet had the chance, and I _am_ prepared!_

"You are sixteen, going on seventeen. Baby, it's time to think. Better beware, be canny and careful. Baby, you're on the brink." Rolfe stood up smartly and patted her shoulder. "You are sixteen going on seventeen, fellows will fall in line. Eager young lads and roués and cads, will offer you food and wine."

Liesl imagined being courted by all these men and giggled. She wondered if that was a flicker of jealousy she saw in his eyes at the thought?

He circled around behind her, grinning mischievously. "Totally unprepared are you to face a world of men."

Liesl looked behind her shoulder and her head swam at his sudden nearness. She instinctively leaned forward; there was only Rolfe and the moonlight on his face, and the steady sound of his breath…

He swallowed and backed away, and the rest of the world rushed back into Liesl's focus. _Nervous, are we?_ She thought, her heart still thudding. _I'll get my kiss before the end of the night, Rolfe, just wait and see._

"Timid and shy and scared are you of things beyond your ken." He smiled teasingly and wagged a finger at her. "You need someone older and wiser telling you what to do. I am seventeen going on eighteen…I'll take care of you!" He put a hand to his chest in sincerity.

Liesl giggled and hugged him. She loved that he wanted to protect her, loved the way he made her ache and how well his arms seemed to fit around her. Oh, she loved him. She wanted him beside her forever. He spun her around, then stopped and held a warning finger in front of her face. He was just playing, she knew this. They always tended to run in circles around each other, so she played along. She crossed her arms, pouted. She grinned at the apologetic expression on his face, then tossed her head and started walking in the other direction.

The sky suddenly lit up, and Liesl felt something land on her head. It was storming! Rolfe grabbed her hand and they ran into the gazebo as the rain began to fall harder and harder. He closed the doors, and she took a shuddering breath. They were alone together late at night, and they couldn't very well leave with the storm outside. Everything looked beautiful as the moonbeams hit the rivulets of water streaming down the glass walls that protected them. She smelled the clean, fresh, somehow melancholy scent of rain and every nerve in her body tingled.

Rolfe stood in front of the door, and time seemed frozen as Liesl looked at him. His strong chest rose and fell, his form outlined with light from outside. His firm hands still clutched the door handles, and she saw her own tentative excitement mirrored by his features. The gazebo had become the entire world, and it was just her and Rolfe and the steady, absent pattering of rain.

Liesl was sixteen. She felt as if she were standing on the edge of a precipice high above the ground, gravity tugging on her, the stone beneath her feet steadily crumbling, and yet she was ready to fall. She wanted to know the ways of the world – and she had the feeling her knowledge was about to be expanded.

"I am sixteen going on seventeen. I know that I'm naive. Fellows I meet may tell me I'm sweet, and willingly I believe." She sang, and he grinned endearingly at her.

"I am sixteen, going on seventeen, innocent as a rose. Bachelor dandies, drinkers of brandies. What do I know of those?" She looked at him, hoping to let him know she wasn't quite as naïve as she appeared.

Liesl walked towards him, hands behind her back. "Totally unprepared am I, to face a world of men. Timid and shy and scared am I, of things beyond my ken." She leaned towards him and began climbing her fingers up his shoulder, letting him know that she _wasn't_ merely a little girl.

Rolfe's face flushed and he turned the other way, but Liesl dashed in front of him and jumped onto the bench. She noted the impressed look on his face and continued to sing.

"I need someone older and wiser telling me what to do." Here she grew a bit shy. "You are seventeen going on eighteen. I'll depend on you."

Rolfe's expression softened with happiness. Liesl leaned forward, confident that this was the moment. She felt her love for him sparking through her blood like fire… _yes Rolfe, I want you to protect me and cherish me, forever and forever…_

Suddenly she nearly fell, but he caught her in his arms, and without even thinking about it, they began to dance. He held her hand as they ran in circles around the gazebo, they twirled and she grew dizzy. The rain beat against the glass, seeming to echo their heartbeats. They danced together and then apart, and finally they were sitting at opposite sides of the gazebo, their breathing heavy. She stared at him. He stared back. Liesl suddenly felt nerves overtake her. They stood up, and tentatively danced. Without warning he was right in front of her, their lips close enough that one move would turn into a kiss. She wanted to kiss him so badly, but she was frightened, too. They moved away again, but soon found themselves facing each other again.

His pulse – or maybe it was her own – was loud in her ears, drowning out even the rain. The world blurred, and suddenly his mouth was over hers, his warm hands on either side of her face. Her entire mind seemed filled with light, and she forgot everything – her father who seemed like he wasn't her father at all, her dead mother, the Nazis, even her own name. The Rolfe pulled back. They stared into each other's eyes – blue meeting blue – and then his face turned scarlet and he ran, out of the gazebo and into the pounding rain. Liesl was impossibly, deliriously happy, and she squealed with joy.

_He loves me! _


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I still don't own SOM. **

**Also, I love reviews.**

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_"...the fascination of those eyes, which had bewitched so many seemingly sober men..." - _Historian Hugh Trevor-Roper on Adolf Hitler.

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It was one o'clock in the morning, and Rolfe lay in the pitch dark on his bed, feeling sick to his stomach.

He wasn't entirely sure why. He wasn't entirely sure of much of anything. His eyes felt raw. The rain continued to pound against the windows and roof, and to him it sounded like people knocking on the door. More like people slamming their fists on the door, demanding, hunting him down. He imagined people with swastikas on their arms and flashlights in their hands bursting in and shining them into his eyes.

**_Are you in love with Liesl von Trapp?_**

_I don't know, I don't know, maybe, probably, almost definitely_

He rubbed at his eyes and rolled over. What was _wrong _with him? _People aren't supposed to feel this confused after kissing a girl. And that's all I did. I didn't commit any crime._

About half of him was very happy. Half of him was glowing, bursting, because he'd just kissed a girl dressed in pink, a girl who was beautiful no matter where she was, who was beautiful just for him. Kissing her felt as natural as breathing.

But the other half of him was afraid that he'd made a very big mistake, and these two emotions – happy and afraid – clashed against each other so violently it turned into a frantic mess of paranoia.

She was Captain von Trapp's daughter, after all. Captain von Trapp didn't like the Führer, so Rolfe didn't like Captain von Trapp. His superiors had told him not to, and that was all there was to it. Of course, there had been a time when Rolfe didn't like the Führer either, but that was a time that was strangely difficult to recall. Rolfe furrowed his eyebrows; tried to remember. He had only been enlightened for…how many months was it now?

How very odd, that he couldn't think of a time when he _hadn't _lived for or wanted to die for Adolf Hitler. It was as if he'd carried Germany's truth under his skin for his entire life and it had suddenly awoken.

When he was 15 he had met a boy from Berlin named Gerhard, who was vacationing for several months in Austria. Gerhard was loud, reckless, and fun. The kind of person that gave you a bold, drunken feeling whenever they were around. They'd kept in touch ever since, and some months ago Gerhard had sent him a letter that was going to irreversibly alter Rolfe's life, though he hadn't known it at the time.

_Dear Rolfe,_

_You need to come visit me in Berlin next week. I'm sure you could afford to miss school for a few days, and it's been so long since we've seen each other in person. My parents don't mind. Adolf Hitler is going to give a speech and I'd really like for you to come see it. I know a lot of you Austrians are probably a bit skeptical of him, but he's brilliant! He's an utter genius and you have to come. I would like to see you again, and for you to see our Führer!_

- _Your Friend, Gerhard_

Rolfe had never much cared for politics. His mind was too busy with the adolescent troubles of schoolwork, friends, and future, so he decided to go to Berlin not for Hitler, but for Gerhard. Inwardly, he'd groaned at the thought of listening to Germany's leader rant about a country that wasn't his and that he therefore didn't care about. But if Gerhard really wanted him to, he'd manage.

He didn't remember much about his first few days in Berlin, either – he remembered looking down any street and seeing brash red flags with black swastikas in the center, waving merrily from the shops. But the only real parts he remembered of his week with Gerhard in Berlin were the Speech and the aftermath. The Speech that seemed as if it had dragged him out of freezing water he hadn't known he was drowning in, the Speech that made him wish he was a German.

It had been crowded. There were maybe hundreds of people there. Rolfe had been sitting awkwardly with Gerhard and his 3 friends, whose names he hadn't bothered to remember. They'd all greeted him not with "Hello" but with "Heil Hitler!" and Rolfe didn't really know what to think of it. They hadn't spoken a single word to him since. He was surrounded on all sides by people and by Gerhard, his friend, but he felt alone, out of place. Among them, but not one of them. They'd been waiting for nearly an hour, and at that point, he'd just wanted to return to Gerhard's apartment and sleep.

"Is this ever going to _start_?" he'd hissed to Gerhard.

"Shut up, would you?" Gerhard had replied. "It'll start soon,"

Rolfe had fidgeted. He'd been annoyed, but his curiosity was growing. _There must be _something _worthwhile about this if so many are willing to wait an hour just to see him talk._

There was.

Only a few minutes after Gerhard had reprimanded him, Germany's Führer was announced with a burst of loud, patriotic music. Something in the drums stirred Rolfe's blood, and despite himself, he'd felt excitement starting to flare. Adolf Hitler walked out onto the stage, and the arena suddenly exploded with applause. Rolfe had jumped, startled. Beside him Gerhard was screaming "Heil Hitler! Heil Hitler!" Rolfe had been puzzled. _But Hitler hasn't even said anything yet, _he'd thought, clapping to be polite, but staring down the Führer with a critical eye. _He doesn't look like anything remarkable. _Adolf Hitler had appeared like nothing more than any ordinary man, with brown hair, a small mustache, and an eye color Rolfe couldn't distinguish. It was the last time Rolfe would ever be able to look at Adolf Hitler and think "ordinary".

The Führer had stood still for about a minute, seeming to judge the audience, to figure out exactly who they were and what they needed to hear. The people had quieted down, and then he began to speak.

Rolfe found that later he couldn't remember many of the exact words Hitler had said, only the emotions that had stirred up in him; the images the Führer's words had painted in the air. Rolfe was enchanted. Suddenly he loved Germany more than his own country. Suddenly he saw the Jews slinking about in the dark, plotting to suppress Germany and the great Aryan race. How dare they! He'd never been anti-Semitic before, but now his eyes were open, and he saw how they truly were - immoral, cunning, untethered wanderers. He saw the world as it would one day be, a world where everything was bright and clean and moral, and the Aryans had all the space they needed. Thoughts he'd never even thought before suddenly became the undeniable truth – the weaker countries must bow to Germany, the world must be made pure, the Jews had to go, Adolf Hitler had been given to the people by God.

Rolfe suddenly felt ashamed of being Austrian. He wished he was German more than just about anything in that moment. The entire audience was mesmerized, caught under a spell by the sheer force of Hitler's emotion and the flaming of his china blue eyes. And when the speech was over, the people rose from their seats as one and applauded, although it was less like applause and more like hysteria. Rolfe had clutched Gerhard's arm and he realized suddenly that he was crying. All around him were faces stained with tears, and everybody was screaming at the top of their lungs, and without even making the conscience decision to, Rolfe had begun yelling "Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil!" For minutes on end he could hear nothing but people pouring their love for Germany from their souls and his throat grew hoarse but it did not matter anymore.

After they'd left, Rolfe had felt curiously drained, breathless. He heard "Sieg Heil!" with every beat of his heart. Gerhard wanted to go get drinks, and although Rolfe was normally wary of alcohol, he heartily agreed. He felt bold and daring. He wanted to be brave, just like a German soldier ought to be. He hadn't realized it yet, but he had wholeheartedly sold his soul to Adolf Hitler.

The night was vivid. All of a sudden Gerhard's friends, whose names he didn't even know, seemed like the best people he'd ever met. They swaggered through the streets on their way to the bar, already drunk on patriotism. They snickered at the yellow stars painted on some unfortunate shops. They all grinned so wide it looked almost gruesome, and at random they might simultaneously shout "Heil Hitler!" and admire how it reverberated throughout the dark Berlin. They practiced marching. They laughed for no reason whatsoever because it seemed that the whole world was laid out just for them.

Rolfe drained several beers in a row, until his head was filled with stars and the streetlights blurred into each other. Gerhard smirked at him.

"I _told_ you. Didn't I tell you it'd be brilliant?"

Rolfe smiled back and raised his bottle.

"Heil Hitler!"

When he'd returned to Austria, his enthusiasm hadn't died down. At school he excitedly told everything to his friends. He showed them how the Nazis marched and how the Nazis saluted.

The Führer is the soul of Germany.

The Führer says Aryans are the master race.

The Führer says Aryans ought to have more living space.

The Führer says Jews are tainted and unclean.

The Führer says those Jews and Communists are trying to rule the world.

The Führer says -

His friends had cast sideways glances at each other, the edges of their mouths tilting down slightly. "You sure do talk about the Führer a lot nowadays, Rolfe."

Rolfe forgave his friends for not understanding. They'd know the truth in the end, and that was what counted.

For months on end the Nazi Party was all he could think about, but then he met a girl who was sixteen going on seventeen and it wasn't quite the same anymore.

There were two sides to his heart. One was all blood and honor, marching and heiling, red and black and Aryans and superiority and power. The other was moonlight and gazebos, telegrams and laughter, the scent of rain on the air and a girl.

A girl with creamy skin and dark hair, and blue eyes that stared into his so unflinchingly. A girl that was so pretty sometimes it hurt; a girl who was funny and sweet; a girl who looked at him like he was the answer to all her questions. She stood, teetering, on the brink between innocent childhood naivety and complex adult matters. Rolfe had no idea how a girl so small could create such big feelings inside him, feelings that made him want to run away and hold her forever at the same time. He made her head spin and her breath catch and her skin flush, and he loved doing that to her because that is _exactly_ what she did to him.

He loved the way her eyes caught the moonlight, and how when she danced she looked weightless, and the way her brown eyelashes rested against a cheek smooth as a pearl when her eyes were closed.

She'd just looked so lovely in that light, gossamer dress, looking at him like he was the world, and he'd pressed her pink lips to his and forgot everything for just one moment, even the Nazis

and perhaps that's what frightened him the most.

Rolfe twisted uncomfortably in his sheets again. He was being ridiculous. She was just a girl. She may have been Captain von Trapp's daughter, but surely she didn't share her father's views? And if she did, he could always teach her the right thing, couldn't he? Why did he feel so afraid? (A small part of him whispered that if he was involved in something that made him fear terrible punishment after merely kissing a girl, perhaps he should get away from it as soon as possible. He pushed the thought away)

_My superiors wouldn't punish me for liking Liesl von Trapp. She's not the same person as her father._ He told himself. _Why can't I have both Liesl and my position with the Nazis? Liesl deserves the world we're trying to create._ The thought brought a smile to Rolfe's face. _Yes, that's right. Liesl deserves this. I'm helping to get it for her, and when we do, she and I can be happy – together._

Soothed, he closed his eyes to sleep. _Everything will be fine. I'll be fine and Liesl will be fine._

He honestly believed they would be.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: So, originally this was a two-shot, but I decided I wanted to update it. Something about the characters of Rolfe and Liesl and their doomed, naive infatuation with each other was calling to me. Plus I've gotten a bit of an interest in Nazi Germany and the WWII era recently, so that just gave me more incentive to continue this. I'm planning on having only a few more chapters, but I'm not 100% sure how many. This chapter here is pretty short, but I intend to have the next one be super long to make up for it.**

**I still don't own TSOM.**

**Also, review, or your crush will turn out to be a Nazi. **

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_"For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart. It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul." _– Judy Garland

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The impossible had occurred – Liesl's life now seemed like it couldn't possibly get any better.

No more lifeless uniforms. No more harsh, metallic whistles. No more ridiculously straight lines and militaristic perfection. Everything was sunny, happy, and hopeful. _And all because of Fraulein Maria. _Liesl mused. None of them could've expected how Maria would change the entire household, but they weren't complaining. Not at all.

She'd at first thought of Maria as silly and inexperienced; someone Father would fire in record time. Then she'd admired the governess with a grudging respect as Fraulein tolerated their ugly tricks and antics, and then she'd considered her a friend, and then as the only mother figure she'd had for five years.

_And now…Maria is going to be my mother for real._ The thought was dizzying.

Liesl remembered helplessly watching her father become a bleak and unapproachable figure. His body seemed to become more angular and rigid; built of clear-cut lines and hard edges. The songs, the stern yet gentle manner he'd always carried, the laughter had all gone down in that casket with Agathe, perhaps tucked away in her unstirring heart. And then he began to run his family as if they were a crew upon one of his warships, and Liesl had thought he was never going to come back. She remembered a single moment in that first year after her mother had passed away, when she'd thought – _Mother is dead. And maybe Father is, too._

She'd been 11 years old.

But now, there was Maria, and Liesl knew everything would be alright. The governess had misted the gray household with color, and taught the children that it was fine to just have fun and be silly and make mistakes. Liesl had come to love Maria's wit, creativity, flightiness, and free-spirited nature. Father had too. And that, really, was the best thing of all.

Liesl couldn't keep the wide smile off her face as she looked around the church chapel. The pews were crowded with Father's friends. Everything was golden and glittering as the afternoon sun shed its light through stained glass. The von Trapps had gone to church less and less since Agathe's death, and Liesl had all but stopped believing in God. But now she felt as if a gentle presence was there, laying a warm hand on her shoulder and smiling.

_Thank you, God. _She thought. _I mean it._

After all, if this wedding wasn't a miracle, she didn't know what was.

Gretl and Marta stood beside her, their youthful faces glowing with excitement. All 3 of them wore snowy white dresses. Liesl's little sisters fidgeted as they awaited Maria's entrance, and she hushed them gently. Marta and Gretl had only the barest memories of Mother; when she died Marta had been 2 and Gretl had only been a baby. _It's going to be so wonderful for them to have someone to braid their hair and read them storybooks. _She thought. _It'll make up for all those years when I had to play mother and when we only had each other. Now we all have a _real _mother, and Father has someone he loves again… _Liesl felt suddenly as if she might cry, but she only bit her lip and held back the tears. _Best not to cry and confuse the little ones. They won't understand that the tears are happy._

A group of nuns appeared like a flock of ravens and lead Maria, a single dove among them, to the iron gates entering the chapel. She entered, looking prettier than she ever had before. A simple pearly dress floated to the floor with a feminine, pure grace, and a veil drifted down as well, light as a whisper. Maria gave Liesl an anxious but warm smile. Liesl wondered if she'd look so beautiful at her own wedding. She wondered if she _would _get married.

She handed Maria a cluster of ivory flowers. The blond woman's fingers shook ever so slightly as she grasped them, but it seemed not a tremble of fear but of anticipation. Maria seemed lit from within; the golden cheerful glow of sunlight was shining from her happy eyes. _Did I look like that when Rolfe kissed me? _Liesl thought. She reminded herself sharply to focus on her role in the ceremony and gave her little sisters a gentle push. They started off slowly down the aisle. Liesl and Maria exchanged glances, and Liesl felt tears pushing at the back of her eyes again. Their family was whole.

As Liesl took measured steps down the length of the cathedral, her mind flitted to Rolfe again. It must've been several weeks since that wonderful night of her first kiss, and she hadn't seen him at all. She figured Father simply didn't have any telegrams arriving for him lately. Rolfe couldn't be tired of her; _he _had kissed _her _after all. Everything else was falling into place perfectly, so Liesl couldn't bring herself to worry about it much. _The next time I see him, _she thought, _I'll have so many things to tell him about!_

She ascended the stone steps to the altar, Maria behind her. She watched as Father took his bride's hand. A smile twitched at his lips, and Liesl marveled at the display of genuine happiness on his face.

They looked at each other as if they both knew exactly who the other was; knew what they loved and what they hated, what they feared, what they were proud of, what they were insecure about, what they dreamed. The Captain and the governess knew each other as well as two people could, and cherished every part of the other, and Liesl was breathless with the sheer beauty of that. _What an amazing thing it is, for two people to love and understand each other so completely. _To be so close to someone, to be united under the eyes of God and loved ones…what would that be like?

Liesl wanted to know about those things. To know how it felt for her soul to be linked with another. Sometimes it seemed like she'd never understand this kind of forever-love. _Is that what Rolfe and I have? He makes me feel so wonderful and _alive_, but would I marry him if he asked? How do I know if I'm ready? _She missed Rolfe, wanting to feel his peppermint lips kiss her again and explore what her feelings for him meant. For a moment she was disheartened, but then she looked at Father and Maria again and smiled. _I have a new mother to talk about everything with now._

Church bells chimed, ringing in the bright, glittering future of the von Trapp family. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

_(But of course,_

_ everything did)_


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I'm not sure what it was, but this chapter was extremely difficult to write. It went under some pretty heavy editing, and I think it's mostly the way I want it to be. Even though it was difficult, it was also pretty fun because we don't know much about Rolfe, so I was free to mostly do what I wanted. **

**This one's in a rather different format than the others; instead of being a single narrative it's more like several random but relevant moments of Rolfe's time as a Nazi.**

**Please review~**

* * *

_"What a treacherous thing to believe that a person is more than a person." – _John Green, _Paper Towns_

* * *

Rolfe liked being a Nazi.

He liked the bold image of the Nazi flag: twisting black lines upon a blinding white circle upon a violently red background. That flag could burn itself on the eyes of all who saw it.

He liked the straight-armed salute and the crisp goose-stepping. He liked the Nazi Party anthem, _Horst-Wessel-Lied, _and he often found himself humming it.

He liked the atmosphere of blazing passion and fervor. Nothing was more important than the Fatherland and the Führer. Sieg Hiel!

He liked Adolf Hitler most of all. Hitler was Germany's savior. He'd never _really _met Hitler, of course, but he felt like he had. The Führer was good and kind and selfless, and his leadership skills were incredible. He was a genius with God's blessing, no doubt. Who else could've saved Germany's economy; warned them about Jewry and Communism? If Rolfe could pick the way he'd die, he would want it to be in service of the Führer, somehow.

The Nazis were precise and methodical, and the powerful bellicose perfection was intoxicating. They were sharp, clean, well-oiled instruments, honed to burn away the unclean, weak parts of the old world. Rolfe had the feeling he'd never feel so perfect and noble again.

The Nazis did carry a dark undertone, though, a thin layer of danger peeking from under the brash vermilion flag. Rolfe didn't really notice it at first, enthralled with them as he was. Later on he began to sense it, a taut seethe of death lurking behind that might lash out like a serpent and then recede back underneath a veil of wild nationalism.

But for the first few months, anyway, he was sharing the top of the world with them.

He joined the Hitler Youth. The local branch of the Nazi Party was headed by _Gaulieter _Herr Zeller. Herr Zeller was a stern, harsh man with a thin black mustache and an arrogant manner about him. Rolfe tried to like him, but he couldn't quite do it. Herr Zeller was one of those people that could make you feel inferior and stupid simply by being in the same room.

He wondered if he was a bad Nazi for not being fond of Herr Zeller. All _Gauleiters _were personally appointed by Adolf Hitler, and he certainly liked Adolf Hitler. Eventually he decided that he probably wasn't doing anything wrong as long as he obeyed and was loyal to the _Gaulieter_. He figured that's what his Führer would tell him.

One day Rolfe had to deliver a telegram to Herr Zeller. He lived in a large, dark wooden house just outside Salzburg. His home was big enough to be considered a mansion, but still smaller than the von Trapp family's. Rolfe, who hadn't met Liesl at the time, always felt bitter at the idea – he may not like Herr Zeller that much, but as a Nazi official, he deserved a better home than Captain von Trapp.

The sun was just beginning to fade out, and streaks of orange light slipped through the dark branches of the trees in Herr Zeller's yard. It wasn't any different than a normal telegram delivery: he knocked on the door, greeted the _Gauleiter _with a salute, handed him the telegram and was just starting to leave.

But then Herr Zeller said, "Rolfe."

_What do you want? _He thought, glancing, irritated, at the sinking sun. His mother wouldn't like it if he was late for dinner.

Herr Zeller set an analytical gaze on Rolfe, and he shifted nervously. The older man's brown eyes were hard as river stones, and he tapped the telegram rhythmically against his palm.

"I just wanted to make sure, my boy," The _Gauleiter _said. "That you know you're nothing without us."

Rolfe stared at him, confused. He wet his lips nervously. "What do you mean, sir?" He prayed it wasn't some painfully obvious answer.

Herr Zeller shrugged, and smiled somewhat pleasantly. Rolfe had never seen him look remotely pleasant before.

"I mean that before you were a Nazi, you weren't much at all. Just an ordinary Austrian boy, a million other Austrian boys just like you, all of your lives separate but in perfect unison." He waved his right hand disdainfully. "Grow up, go to school, worry about all the pretty young girls that send a smile your way, get an ordinary job, perhaps marry, produce a few children, watch your bones decay into the dust of old age, and finally die."

Herr Zeller continued to grin at him. Rolfe spotted a portrait of Adolf Hitler through the pane of a window, and Adolf Hitler was smiling too, seemingly in agreement with his _Gauleiter._

"Die, without anything to mark your existence but a single gravestone, surrounded by so many other gravestones exactly like it." Herr Zeller said. "A paper existence, don't you think?"

_A paper existence. _Rolfe stood still, not having any idea what he was supposed to say. He'd never had any problem with his life before Hitler, not while he was living it. He'd thought the life Herr Zeller described didn't seem so bad – it was _normal_ – but the way he spoke of it now made it seem so…vapid. Trivial. Meaningless. Rolfe's only goal had been to stay comfortably in the middle-class and live out the rest of his life. But maybe his life – and he himself – really _was _insipid and worthless. Thin as paper, superficial as a mirage.

His brows knit together. Did it really mean little to nothing? Seventeen years of exploring the streets of Salzburg and eating _topfenstrudel_ with his parents and keeping up grades in school? Painting-Hitler was staring at him intensely through the glass. Rolfe had never been terribly insecure, at least not any more insecure than the average teenage boy was. _But maybe I should've, _he thought, panic rising in his throat. _Maybe I am just a stupid, unexceptional human being. _

He was mostly average – average intelligence, average physical capabilities, and average family life. He had always been a little bit shy and awkward, especially around girls, and perhaps that was all he was: a somewhat inept young Austrian boy, interchangeable with a million other young Austrian boys. No substance. No importance.

_A paper existence._

Part of him thought Herr Zeller was wrong and that he did matter, but that part was becoming more unstable. _Herr Zeller is probably smarter than I am; he's been personally appointed by the Führer, who is an utter genius._

Rolfe's heart tumbled into his stomach at the newfound knowledge of his insignificance. He looked past the _Gauleiter_, his eyes focused on Painting-Hitler searchingly. He didn't notice the smirk on Herr Zeller's face.

"Don't feel bad, my boy," Herr Zeller purred. "You're one of us. An ethnic German. Alone you're nothing, but if you fulfill your duty as a link in the chain of the superior race, you are incredibly valuable. If you are true to the spirit of Adolf Hitler, and ask yourself what he would do in any given situation,_ then _you're worthy. You must be willing to sacrifice yourself to our cause, because the cause of all of us is more important than your one, individual life. You want to live for something greater than yourself, yes?"

Rolfe blinked and refocused on the Nazi official. "Yes, sir," he said, nodding slowly.

The Nazi official grinned even wider. "Excellent. You're one of _us_, don't forget."

A faint glimmer of hope. _I _am _one of them. _The Nazis were strong and glorious and brave, and their blood-red courage would fill up the empty spaces inside him that were lacking value. His vapid paper frame would have supports – _and in return, _he silently swore. _I'll be loyal, always._

Entwining his identity with the National Socialists seemed like the most logical thing in the world. "Rolfe" was a rather pathetic person, now that he thought about it.

"Rolfe the Nazi" seemed much better.

* * *

There were times when Rolfe doubted the Nazis.

Not very much. Only a little. But sitting in class while the teacher was explaining some math and he was nearly dozing off, a memory flew into his head that he hadn't thought of in years.

He had had Jewish neighbors when he was about five.

He didn't remember the parents' names, but he remembered their seven-year-old son's – Hillel, or something. Hillel had been a slight, dark-haired boy with glasses that seemed far too large for his face. He'd been serious and solemn for a seven-year-old kid, but on rare days when all of Rolfe's other friends were busy he'd let Rolfe hang around him. Rolfe remembered seeing a menorah in Hillel's window around Christmastime and asking his father what it was, but his father had only shook his head.

Huh. Funny that they would suddenly come to his mind after 12 years.

_And what happened to them? _Rolfe tapped his fingers against his desk. _I think they moved when I was about six. _

He shifted uneasily. He couldn't remember his Jewish neighbors ever giving signs of cruelty. Hadn't the parents given him little candies? And Hillel had been rather patient with him, even when he was annoying.

_The Führer says that Jews are good at disguising themselves as ordinary Europeans and hiding their wickedness, _he reminded himself.

_But was Hillel evil? And were his parents? _Rolfe tried to shove the thought back down into the recesses of his brain. He was being a bad Nazi, thinking like this. _Don't let them deceive you, you idiot._ The Führer wouldn't be pleased.

But he felt as if he had a pebble stuck in his shoe, prodding at him relentlessly.

_Are all Jews one-hundred percent _evil_?_

_Well, maybe not _evil._ But still inferior to us Aryans. They're still not quite the same._

_Probably the _majority _is evil, and it's just that there are a few who aren't as despicable. But generally, they're a wicked race. Maybe not all, but most._

He thought he was decided on the matter, but even when he arrived home he felt unsettled. The feeling of agitation persisted until he was about to go to bed, but he wasn't really sure why. Maybe it was because he was being disloyal; a poor excuse for a National Socialist. And if he was being a poor excuse for a Nazi, then wasn't he therefore being a poor excuse for a person?

_What would the Führer do? _He asked himself_. _But for once he wasn't sure. He didn't really know whether or not Hitler believed that decent Jews could exist.

Paranoia spattered like oil on water, spread. _I'm being a bad person. I shouldn't doubt what they tell me. This is _exactly_ what the Jews want to happen._ Shame prickled at the back of his skull. _Don't be so pathetic. _And he knew how pathetic he was alone. He _couldn't _let himself doubt the Nazi Party, and certainly not the Führer. Even if there were "decent" Jews, that didn't change the fact that he was a member of the master race and he needed to do his duty and he was _not_ going to let himself return to his former superficial self.

He _was_ going to matter. And the only way that would happen was if he lived for Adolf Hitler.

_Alone you are nothing. The fate of Germany is more important than your individual fate. Don't be dumb enough to forget._

Rolfe got on his knees at the edge of his bed and clasped his hands in prayer; pressed his lips against the tips of his fingers almost feverishly.

_God, Jesus, Adolf Hitler, please give me the strength to know your will and do the right thing. Amen._

With that, he went to sleep.

* * *

He was gifted with a pistol when he first joined the Hitler Youth. Rolfe had never shot a gun before then. Of course, he'd made finger guns and fired bullets at invisible opponents as a child, playing with his friends, but his father strictly forbade him to touch his own weaponry.

Rolfe sat in his room with a pistol in his hands, dark, sleek, and gleaming. He didn't really like it much. It was cool to the touch, but he could sense fire and destruction all coiled inside. Death encased in steel. One twitch of a finger and it could be unleashed.

He knew he was being ridiculous. It wasn't as if it would just _explode_. As long as he was careful and in control nothing would happen. But all the same…knowing that he had an instrument of carnage right there in his hands made him uneasy.

He remembered four years ago – he'd been thirteen and his mother's distant uncle, Leberecht Kueper, had died. Rolfe and his father had never met the old man, and according to Mother she hadn't even interacted with him much as a child, but she stubbornly insisted on going to Vienna for his funeral. Father rolled his eyes, muttered _"Women," _to Rolfe, but he gave in and they went.

Rolfe had been bored and he didn't very much care. He couldn't recall much of the funeral, but one memory had stuck with him. When his parents had herded him up to the open casket and he'd looked upon the first dead person he had ever seen.

His great-uncle's cheeks were unnaturally flat. The body looked like a wax mannequin, and Rolfe had felt a chill spread across his body. He barely knew anything about Leberecht Kueper, but the thought – a life, filled with memory and secrets and experiences, brutally severed and dashed into oblivion. Life seemed so short all of a sudden, in the presence of this body that had once housed a soul and was now utterly meaningless.

The reality of death jolted him. Sweat appeared on Rolfe's pale temples, but he'd done his best not to look shaken. He'd been a thirteen-year-old boy and he was supposed to be brave.

_I'm supposed to be brave. _Rolfe stared at the pistol lying across his palms. He had the power to condemn a person to an eternity beneath the ground instead of beneath the sun. But so what, right? He was a National Socialist. He couldn't be _frightened _of things like that. _And besides, the only people I'll be told to shoot probably deserve it._ _Like traitors, or Communists. Or Jews. _He attempted to reassure himself.

_(It was then, as a gun sat in his hands seeming to tell him that to kill was necessary and the weak must _crumble,_ that he first vaguely detected the Nazis' dangerous underbelly. But of course he didn't think anything of it)_

He gingerly sat the gun inside his drawer, and struggled to push the drawer in normally instead of slamming it shut.

_I'm so pathetic. _ He thought, biting the inside of his cheek.

_God, Jesus, Adolf Hitler, please give me strength. Amen._

He went to sleep.

* * *

Liesl von Trapp was the first girl Rolfe ever thought he might be honest-to-God falling in love with.

And it wasn't easy to explain what it was about her that he liked so much. She was like spun sugar, or cumulus clouds. She was just so _nice _and fun to be around, and she was dauntless yet innocent and always so beautiful all the time, and she always gave him this really nervous, trembling feeling inside.

Usually when he was drifting off to sleep he would think about her. He wanted to be with her a lot, and he wanted to protect her from danger. There was something magical in those nights with her, underneath a star-salted sky, when everything seemed so simple and light and perfect. It was hard to imagine that she was the Captain's daughter. He couldn't really wrap his mind around the idea that a girl as charming as Liesl had come from a man as unreasonable and cold as Georg von Trapp.

One thing Rolfe wanted to do was tell Liesl about the Nazis and the Führer, but he could never quite do it. Maybe it was because the world of Liesl seemed so far removed from everything else, and to disturb it with politics seemed _wrong _somehow. But the Nazis were important to him, they were an integral part of who he was, and why should he be reluctant to unite the two most important things in his life? And he _knew _she'd be as enchanted with it all as he was, he just knew it.

_(He would never have dreamed that the two sides of his heart were far from being united; instead they were ripping apart)_

* * *

Finally – the Anschluss had occurred.

Rolfe liked that word: _Anschluss. _It sounded at once like a conquering and a rebirth. He was glad Germany had invaded Austria without any violence. His fellow Austrians were ready to accept the National Socialists.

Herr Zeller kept repeating that "nothing in Austria has changed" but Rolfe knew it was just to appease the stubborn, foolish anti-Nazis. Of _course_ things had changed. Ethnic Germans were being united under one brilliant Reich. The people who hadn't yet learned about the Nazi Party were going to learn the right way to think. They were going to know how great and wonderful _(and deadly) _it all was.

Rolfe dared to hope that maybe Captain von Trapp would change his mind about the Nazis. If he did, well, maybe he'd be able to see Liesl more.

Rolfe was annoyed that he hadn't taken advantage of the Captain's honeymoon to go see Liesl without sneaking around. But he'd just been incredibly busy with his telegram job and Hitler Youth meetings. And the activities they did during Hitler Youth – marching and bayonet drilling and grenade throwing and pistol shooting - always made him so tired he slept as much as he possibly could. He was rather glad that he didn't have school; he doubted he'd be able to stay awake for classes.

Even though it was exhausting, Rolfe knew it was worth it. **_"_**_The weak must be chiseled away. I want young men and women who can suffer pain. A young German must be as swift as a greyhound, as tough as leather, and as hard as Krupp's steel."_ That's what the Führer had said.

Unfortunately no telegrams had been sent to Captain von Trapp anyway, so he really didn't have time for Liesl lately. He was almost glad –what on earth are you supposed to say to a girl after you kiss her then run away? But it had been over a month, and her absence was beginning to grate on him.

A few days after the Nazis came to Austria, he was given two telegrams to deliver, one to Herr Zeller and one to the Captain. The Nazi's house and the Captain's house were on opposite ends on the city, which was a pain, but he'd deal with it. Rolfe went to deliver Herr Zeller's first because his mansion was closer.

The _Gauleiter _gestured to Rolfe's bag. "You're heading over to Captain von Trapp's next, aren't you?"

He wasn't surprised that Herr Zeller knew. It was imperative that the Nazis know what was going on with just about everyone. "Yes, sir."

Herr Zeller looked into his eyes pointedly, and that feeling of inadequacy began creeping over Rolfe again. The Nazi official wanted something from him, but again he didn't understand what it was. The seconds dragged, and Rolfe felt stupider with each one.

"I believe your employer mentioned that whenever you deliver telegrams to the von Trapps, you take longer than usual." Herr Zeller said conversationally.

_I haven't even _been_ there in over a month._ Rolfe's throat felt dry, recalling the fear that had gripped him the night he'd kissed Liesl, wondering whether liking Captain von Trapp's daughter was worthy of punishment. _Surely it's not. It isn't as if Liesl is black, or Romani, or Jewish. She's Aryan just like the rest of us._

Still, he didn't want to admit the details of his time with Liesl to the _Gauleiter. _They were his to keep. If he'd been talking to the Führer himself it'd be different, but of course he wasn't.

"The Captain's house takes a while to bike to, sir." Rolfe spat out the first lie he could think of, hoping that lying to the _Gauleiter _didn't make him a bad person. It wasn't a lie that could do any harm.

"Of course," Herr Zeller said flatly. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Rolfe, but doesn't Captain von trap have a daughter? Around your age, perhaps?"

Rolfe felt like a moth that'd had its wing suddenly and savagely pinned down. _He knows. How on earth does he know? Or maybe he's just guessing. Nobody's seen Liesl and I together. He just guessed and got it right. _He hesitated. He didn't have to say anything about Liesl yet. _Herr Zeller obviously already knows that the Captain has a sixteen year-old daughter, but he doesn't have to know anything about my feelings for her._

"Yes, sir. He has a daughter around my age." Rolfe said guardedly.

"I see." Herr Zeller smirked and chuckled, and Rolfe knew instantly that he had him all figured out. "And you fancy yourself in love with her, don't you?"

The color rose high in Rolfe's cheeks. Embarrassment and anger prickled across the back of his neck. He didn't like the way the Nazi official laughed at him; asked if he "fancied himself in love" as if he was an idiotic child. And now here he was blushing like mad and he couldn't exactly lie anymore. _Stupid, stupid, stupid. _

"I – I don't really know, sir, I just – she – " He mumbled. He couldn't seem to string together any coherent sentences, and he decided he'd rather bash his head against a wall than continue this conversation.

"I'd be careful with her, my boy. She's Georg von Trapp's, after all." The _Gauleiter _mused.

"Yes, sir, I know, I've thought about that before." Rolfe said quickly. "But she's a good girl, I promise, not like her father at all, and I'm _sure _that if she was told everything she'd agree with us, she is Aryan too – "

"Hush." Herr Zeller growled. "Don't separate father from daughter too much. She's probably been brought up on his Jew-sympathizing ideals… She may be a good girl, as you say. But I advise that you distance yourself from her, for a while anyway. You're only a boy, and you don't have any idea that women can ruin you if you're not careful."

Irritation sparked like static. Rolfe blushed even harder. _Only a boy? _He was seventeen. Practically an adult.

"But, sir – "

"Don't get upset, it's completely unnecessary." The older man snorted. "It really is best to remove yourself from this little…relationship for a time. It's so soon after the Anschluss, you know, and who knows if we'll need you for something important. Can you afford distractions?"

Rolfe hesitated. _If they'll need me? _He'd assumed that there wouldn't be any uprisings, since the Nazis had come without any resistance. But what if there were? They'd need him to help. Rolfe desperately wanted to do something to help the Führer. _But is Liesl really that much of a distraction? She wouldn't get in the way of me doing my duty, would she? Even if she a von Trapp – _

Herr Zeller rolled his eyes. "Such hesitation, Rolfe. I thought you wanted to live for something greater than yourself. We're going to burn our mark onto the flesh of history. Don't you want to be a part of that? You wouldn't let yourself get so ensnared in a frivolous little romance, would you?"

Rolfe couldn't seem to speak. He sensed that there was a chink in Herr Zeller's logic, but he couldn't figure out where it was. His brows creased. Uncertainty chilled him. Adolf Hitler and Liesl von Trapp had been the only things in his life that weren't totally meaningless, but looking at the _Gauleiter's _amused face he wasn't sure even Liesl was that important.

He'd already known that his life without the Nazis was a vapid one, but he hadn't thought that all those nights by the gazebo were just as shallow.

"It's your choice, of course." Herr Zeller shrugged as if he didn't very much care. "I won't _force _you into anything. But I do wonder…what would the Führer think of you right now?"

Instinctively, Rolfe's eyes darted to Painting-Hitler inside the window. He swore he could see disappointment heavy in the portrait's china-blue gaze. Shame and dismay engulfed him. _Would you really be let down by me, mein Führer? _He shrank back under Hitler's penetrating wintry gaze.

He had thought that Hitler and Liesl could share his devotion, but it seemed he was wrong. He felt like he was being torn in two. God, he didn't want to give either of them up, but – the memories of him and Liesl seemed all ripped to shreds now; they didn't feel all that magical anymore; they were just a naïve little boy and a naïve little girl running in circles around each other and _God, Jesus, Adolf Hitler, _he just felt so _stupid._

The Nazis really and truly mattered.

They mattered more than anything.

Maybe someday soon, when people had gotten used to German occupation and he could afford…distractions, he'd be with Liesl again.

But not now.

"I...I see what you mean, sir." Rolfe said quietly. "I don't think the Führer would be very pleased, and…there are more important things than girls, anyway."

"There's a good boy." Herr Zeller grinned. "Now go on and deliver Captain von Trapp's telegram, won't you?"

He nodded. "Yes, sir. Heil Hitler!"

The _Gauleiter's _smile widened. "Heil Hitler."

As Rolfe rode his bike back into Salzburg, he convinced himself that he'd done the right thing. He _needed_ the Nazis. He wasn't about to give them up for a "frivolous little romance". Some things just weren't worth it. And he wouldn't ever want Adolf Hitler to be disappointed in him.

He did a very good job of ignoring the part of him that felt sick.

* * *

**A/N: Well, that one was reallyreally long, like I said. I did a bit of research for this chapter, and the Nazi Party really did instruct its people to ask themselves "What would the Führer do?"**

**In February, 1934, about a _million _Nazi Party officials swore an oath to Hitler at different points around Germany. Rudolf Hess gave a speech for the occasion, which was broadcast all over the country. He said stuff like "Be true to Hitler's spirit! Ask in all that you do: What would the Führer do. If you act accordingly, you will not go wrong!" and "Through your oath you bind yourselves to a man who - that is our faith - was sent to us by high powers. Do not seek Adolf Hitler with your mind. You will find him through the strength of your hearts!" and it was basically the creepiest thing ever. :/**


End file.
